Playboy's Secret Wife novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: The Offer

Eleanor offers to double the payout if Callie disappears; Callie refuses and demands the groom, who walks out of the next suite.

Eleanor Hargrove did not shake my hand.

She looked at the dress, the smeared mascara and the shoes in my fist.

"Breakfast," she said.

It wasn't a question.

The two men in dark coats walked us to a corner table in the hotel restaurant.

It was already set for two.

A waiter poured coffee before I sat down.

I held the cup in both hands so she wouldn't see them shake.

"You know who I am," I said.

"Calliope Dunne, twenty-seven," Eleanor said.

"Claims adjuster at Midland Mutual."

"Engaged for three years to Trent Mallory, who works for my nephew."

"Unengaged since Thursday, in front of forty women and a camera."

My face went hot.

"You watched it."

"Everyone watched it, dear."

"My son watched it twice, and then he went to Las Vegas."

I put the cup down.

"Your son went to Las Vegas because of me?"

"I didn't say that."

"You said it just now."

"I said he went," Eleanor said, and sipped her coffee.

She set a small white card on the tablecloth between us.

It had a number on it with a great many zeros.

"That is the second payout, the one he promised you in his note," she said.

"I will double it today."

"You can have it by the end of lunch."

"For what?"

"For flying home this afternoon and never mentioning Las Vegas again."

"Not to the press, not to the Mallory boy, not to anyone."

I stared at the card.

I had a car loan and three thousand dollars of wedding deposits on my credit card.

I also had a mother who still hadn't stopped calling about the shower.

That number would have fixed every one of those problems by dinner.

"You're offering me four million dollars to forget I'm married," I said.

"I'm offering you a graceful exit from a mistake you made while you were not yourself."

"A mistake your son made too."

"My son has made a great many mistakes, and I paid for most of them."

"This one I would like to end quietly."

I pushed the card back across the table with one finger.

"No."

Her eyebrows rose by a millimeter.

"You haven't heard the terms."

"I don't need the terms."

"I don't remember getting married, so I won't take a dime for pretending I didn't."

I swallowed.

"And I'm not selling it to you for a number, either."

"If I'm going to undo this, I'm going to do it myself, to his face."

"On what grounds?"

"I was drunk."

"So was he, most likely."

"That is not the standard."

"Then I'll find out what the standard is," I said.

"I work in claims."

"Finding what's in the fine print is my whole job."

Something moved at the corner of Eleanor's mouth.

It wasn't a smile.

It was the look of a woman who has just been dealt a card she didn't expect.

"Where is he?" I said.

"The clerk said the airport."

"The clerk was told six o'clock."

"That's what I said."

"It is," said a man's voice from the next table, "what I told her."

I turned in my chair.

A man had been sitting two tables away with a newspaper up in front of his face the whole time.

He folded it and laid it down.

He was tall even sitting, with dark hair that needed a trim and grey eyes.

A thin white scar cut through his left eyebrow.

He wore a plain black shirt with the sleeves pushed to his elbows.

He looked at me.

I knew his face.

I had seen it on tabloid covers at every grocery checkout in Chicago.

Playboy Heir Strikes Again, the headlines said.

I had never seen it in person.

I had definitely never seen it in my bed.

Had I?

"I said six," Lucas Hargrove said.

"I didn't say which day."

My heart did something strange against my ribs.

He stood up, walked to our table and pulled out the third chair.

"Good morning, Mrs. Hargrove."

"I like your dress."

"It's looked better, but I like it."

"Lucas," his mother said.

"Mother."

"I asked you to stay out of sight."

"You asked."

He sat and poured himself coffee from her pot.

"She just turned down four million dollars."

"I wasn't going to miss it."

I set my elbows on the tablecloth.

My head throbbed.

My left hand lay between us with a ring on it that I had not chosen.

"Mr. Hargrove," I said.

"I have exactly one question."

"Lucas."

"What did you do to me?"

Something crossed his face, quick and strange.

It wasn't guilt, and it wasn't a joke.

"Nothing you didn't ask for," he said quietly.

"Eat something first."

"Then I'll answer anything you want."

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